


Rays of sunlight. Rays of starlight

by noraprior1994



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Aramis is sad, F/M, Friendship, anne is sad, constance is sad, everyone is sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3100574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noraprior1994/pseuds/noraprior1994
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What she was about the do was completely short-sighted and selfish but as she dressed herself down for bed and awaited the arrival of her new confidant, she could hardly find it within herself to care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A rose on her cheek

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the windows; lighting everything in its wake. The Queen's chambers came to life, with colours so bright and vibrant that it was no surprise that the Queen herself was awake. Under the glow of the morning sun, her hair fell perfectly around her face as she gently began to brush through the curls.

Anne had found over the last few years that only the simple tasks, such as brushing her hair, were able to soothe her nerves in times of distress . And yet no matter how many times she moved her hand back and forth she could not suppress the tightness in her chest. The ever present feeling of dread that clung to her very soul since the news of her pregnancy.

 _Would my child live?_ was the Queen's thoughts both now and when she had found out she was pregnant. At the beginning it was simply the thought that she would lose her child again before he was even ready to enter the world. Or that she again would not be strong enough to carry the child to full term. But now, now she feared for her sons life for a very different reason. If the King was ever made aware of her sons true parentage it would not just be her head on the chopping block. And yet she knew that she herself could count on one hand the number of people who knew of her secret.

Herself, Athos and Aramis.

 _Oh Aramis_ , the father of a child who could never know that he is his. Her thoughts were often occupied by the handsome Musketeer, so brave and kind and gentle. He did not deserve any of this. He does not deserve the pain that will come as he watches his child grow right before his eyes. He will be present, but never close enough. And that alone pained Anne deeply, only making the ache in her chest grow more fierce.

She stood and made her way slowly towards the crib at the end of her bed and kneeled in front of where her babe was sleeping. She had fought greatly to allow him to sleep with her in these quarters, a request practically unheard of in the courts of France. But she would not allow herself to leave him alone for so many hours. She wanted him close, needed her son to be within a arms length of her at all times. She was being foolish, and she knew it, but his safety was her utmost concern. She could not let anything happen to him.

Watching as his small chest moved up and down, Anne listened intently to the puffs of air escaping his mouth as she reached down and caressed his pink cheeks. He was everything she could have ever asked for, and she wished for him to stay like this forever.

At this age many would take a look at her small bundle of life and say,

"He looks just like his father",

"He has the Kings smile".

But she knew as the years rolled by that he would have the same dangerous smile and mischievous glint in his eyes as his father. And that in itself would not only cause suspicion, as he had a Spanish flare already beyond that of her, if you looked hard enough. The slight olive in his skin, dark, warm, brown eyes. The only solace she found was that both her husband and the musketeer have the same unruly curls as each other. A trait which even now was apparent her son had inherited.

Stirring, the last remnants of sleep falling from his face, Louis began to fuss in his crib. Softly, as though not to break him, Anne brings her lips against his forehead and kisses him with a silent prayer in her mind.

_Please God, don't let anything happen to my boy._

With one lingering look, she gathered herself from the floor and opened the doors to her chamber, the silence broken at once. Her maids began filtering throughout the room, busying themselves with making her bed and attending to Louis as he began to squirm impatiently.

Anne wondered to whether Aramis was up yet. Or whether he lay in bed, perhaps with the company of a young maid or courtesan. It was no secret, as to what Aramis of the King's Musketeers got up to in her spare time, and Anne feels doltish to admit that over the past few months she has began taking more heed in the gossip of her ladies in waiting. Her ears often prickling when his name is whispered in hushed tones during afternoon tea.

"Your Majesty?" A small voice broke through Anne's chain of thoughts as she stood quietly by the window, basking in the morning light. She hummed in response, reluctant to break the seal on this morning. "Would you like to dress Louis in black also? For the Cardinal?", the young girl questioned.

Sighing in defeat, Anne turned, quashing down the tightness again,

"No, dress him in blue." _Like a Musketeer_ , she so wanted to say, _like his father_ , "I so love that colour on him"

* * *

 

The sun was high in the sky now and she could feel a rose on her cheeks forming as she took a stroll in the gardens, her ladies in waiting trailing behind her, all except one.

Anne studies Constance Bonacieux with quiet interest. d'Artagnan had spoken highly of the young woman, and the affection in his voice was not lost on the Queen. She was beautiful indeed and she could tell, just from spending a few weeks with the woman at court that she was just as strong willed and loyal to her as any of the musketeer. But Anne needed more than duty to her Queen, or the word of a clearly lovesick young man, to truly trust Constance. And so she spent the past few weeks listening to her every sentence, watching her every movement and even had her followed on one of her days off, albeit off the record. Because she cannot lie when saying that the hiring of Constance did come from an ulterior motive close to the Queen's heart.

She knew the woman was close with d'Artagnan and so she must therefore have some sort of contact with Aramis and despite every rational part of her she has telling her that this would only end in trouble, she wouldn't let the opportunity to know simply how the haunting musketeer was doing. Despite her concocting a plan which was closer to that of one made by a young girl in lust, Anne was smart enough to know not to ask directly about Aramis and instead ask when Constance was more settled into court.

Anne was curious however of her relation with the youngest of the musketeers. She knew of Constance's husband and honestly she didn't really class her as being the type of woman to have a quick dalliance. She felt sorry for the woman, but also shared her pain. For she herself has been stolen away by a King's Musketeer. Anne smiles at the similarity of their situations. But she knew that Constance was almost waiting for her to ask her directly of the young Gascon, and had been tip toeing quietly over any subtle hints that Anne herself had dropped over the past few weeks.

"If you may not mind my asking, how did you get so Close with Monsieur d'Artagnan, considering you are a married woman?" She asked innocently and yet outright, knowing full well that the nature of the question could not be lost on Madame Bonacieux once more. She tensed slightly, but lifted her head with a smile.

"Your Majesty, I believe you already know the answer to your question." She hesitates, stopping both herself and the Queen from their stroll, "I love my husband, believe me, it is what I was taught to do as a child, it is what my parents and everyone else expects from me but...", she raises her head, locking her eyes with Anne's and lowers her voice, "there was just something about him, D'Artagnan I mean, I can't even explain it, he was just so, so-"

"Real." Anne states suddenly, surprising both herself and the young woman next to her. They stare at each other for some time after that, both feeling a strange sense of comfort in the others presence before Anne reaches out and takes her arm. And for a moment, for just a short moment the ache in Anne's chest lifts a little, allowing her to finally breathe, if only just for a second. Anne knows in that moment that she will have no trouble in trusting Constance, and so smiling she unlatches her arm and they continue on their walk.

* * *

 

Anne paced around her chambers late one evening a few weeks after her talk with Constance. Hair still damp from her bath earlier and holding Louis to her chest, soothingly rocking him back and forth, smiling as his eyes shut once more.

Anne had been irritable for a while now, the dampness of her mood could have easily been explained by the passing of the Cardinal but their period of mourning was coming to an end and Anne knew she needed some sort of relief from the heaviness on her chest before anyone, most of all her husband, noticed.

Staring at Louis as she placed him in his crib she knew what she was about the do was completely short-sighted and selfish but as she dressed herself down for bed and awaited the arrival of her new confidant, she could hardly find it within herself to care.

At around 11, there was a soft knock on her door, and even with the soft glow of a single candle lighting the room, the worry on Constance's face was as stark as anything as she entered. As Anne beckoned her into her room and directed her towards the large window seat overlooking to gardens, she closed the door quietly behind her, sticking her head out to make sure no one had followed her. Just in case.

Constance sat perched on the plump cushions, eyes darting wildly around the room. Anne smiled kindly, sitting down next to her and taking her hands in her own.

"I have no idea as to what you must be thinking, and I apologise now for causing you any distress, you aren't in any kind of trouble", at that Constance visibly relaxed, "But I couldn't risk talking to you where someone might hear us."

Anne stood up now, her nerves all but dancing on the edge of the proverbial cliff. She had half a mind to bail out completely and make up some believable lie in which she wanted companionship for the evening. But this was now or never for Anne and she knew she wouldn't have the foolishness within herself to do this again.

"What I am about to ask you stems far from what your duties as my advisor and companion are tailored for, and please know that if at any point you wish to stop me or refuse, I will gladly do so and we shall never speak of this again." She whispered anxiously. Pacing yet again, she made her way over to her dressing table, to where earlier that night she had feverishly rushed words to paper. Her hands shook as she unlocked the compartment on the underside of the table, pulling out a letter. Turning back to Constance she saw the questioning look in her eye, curious yet hesitant.

"You are my Queen, I will gladly do anything you wish of me" she managed to breathe out. Anne smiled at this, knowing full well that she was telling the truth. Constance was as loyal a friend as she had ever known.

"Tomorrow, I am aware is the beginning of a small three day holiday for yourself", she nodded, and Anne brought the letter over to where Constance sat, placing it lightly on her lap. "I need you, with the utmost discretion to deliver this letter for me. I cannot of yet tell you as to what it concerns but I hope you will give me the time to tell you in a more secure place. It is imperative that this letter doesn't leave your side until it is delivered and is seen by no one other than yourself." Constance's eyes widened, and Anne knew at the moment that no one had ever seen her more undone. Her hair was wild and her eyes were blinking rapidly as she continued, "I will not lie to you my dear friend, for that is what you have become to me, a friend, but if this letter was to ever find itself in the wrong hands it could cause allot of people, including yourself, some serious problems. You do not have to do this, like I said you before can leave my chambers this instant and I shall never ask again we shall never speak of this again, but right now I am not asking you to do this for me as your Queen, I am asking you to do this for me as my friend." She finished, sucking in a large breathe and made her final plead with her eyes.

She waited.

Constance opened her mouth, and then shut it.

And then opened it once more.

"Your Majesty, I-"

"Anne. Please call me Anne"

"Anne." She tested, the name balancing on her tongue, she tried again, "Anne, I do not know what to say, the kindness you have bestowed upon me is beyond anything I could have thought I would ever receive," she spoke in hushed tones, but her voice was steady and reassuring, "Of course I will deliver the letter for you, how could you ever question that I wouldn't?" Anne smiled weakly, "But I one question, who exactly am I to deliver it too?"

And in that instant the smile was washed off of Anne's face. She took another deep breathe, looking for a second to her child and then back to Constance.

"To Aramis. The letter is for Aramis" She states quietly after a tense moment. The confusion on Constance's face is not lost on Anne, but the Queen hushes her before any further question. "Now is not the time for any more questions, just promise me, you will deliver this to him without anyone knowing, even d'Artagnan?"

Constance stood, slipping the letter into her corset. Looking at her now, Constance didn't see a Queen, she saw a girl. A girl with tired eyes and a lonely heart, a girl who is just as desperate for a friend as she was.

"I promise."

She swore, holding her head high as the words fell from her lips. "I promise you Anne, he'll have the letter by tomorrow" And she smiled, her eyes warming as she saw the Queen tilt her head back in thanks. "I must be off now Your Majesty, I will see you in a couple of days." She stated formally.

And with one look at the child sleeping soundly in his crib she opened the door to the main quarter and saw herself out, wondering what would happen at their next encounter.

* * *

 

Constance Bonacieux was anything if not true to her word.

Ever since her employment as the Queen's advisor and confidant, Constance's life had felt brighter. She had suffered in silence for months after her ending her affair with d'Artagnan, with no one but her own thoughts to talk with. But now, after all these years she had found someone she considered a friend. She herself would never have believed that her friend was in fact the Queen of France, but fate has a funny way of acting up in Constance's life.

She had left the royal palace that morning, her husband's distant smiles and detached attitude greeting her as she arrived home. Her was angry with her and she knew it, angry that it was her who was now a confidant to the queen and not him. He was also bitter due to the very fact that the only reason she really got the job was because of her ex-lover. But in that moment none of the mattered to Constance as she stalked carefully through town, holding capes in her right arm, all while clutching the letter, concealed by the pockets in her cloak, with her left.

She had promised the Queen she would deliver the letter by today, and true to her word she was now stood outside of the Musketeers base, unsure on what to do next. She had no idea what the content of this letter was, she was curious but she was also nervous.

Her hands were sticky with sweat and her heart was racing like a hundred wild horses, but she shook herself quickly, she had made a promise. A promise to her friend and to her queen, and she'll be damned if she doesn't keep to her promises.

She treaded carefully into the main square, recognising a few other musketeers from the days when she spent hours in the base. She turned to one particularly kind looking man, intent upon asking where she might find Aramis before her unasked question was answered for her.

"Madame Bonacieux, to what do I owe the pleasure?" A smooth voice rang from behind her shoulder, and as if a switch was flipped inside of her, her uneasiness returned once more. She had it all planned out, her husband had himself recently fixed and remodelled a few capes of the musketeers per Captain Treville's request and she had volunteered that morning to drop them off on her way to town. She knew her husband had thought it was an excuse to see her ex-lover but she could hardly tell him the truth.

Composing herself she turned towards Aramis, giving him her best disapproving stare as possible.

"Don't get too excited, I'm not here to see you." His eyebrows shot up, lips quirking into a smile,

"Ah, so you have come to but poor lover boy out of his misery?"

She scowled again. He laughed. "Is Captain Treville around, I have a delivery." She motioned towards the capes in her arms.

"No, seems you just missed him. But like the gentleman I am I shall escort you, and the precious cargo to his office."

She followed behind him, pulling the letter out of her pocket and under the capes as they entered the small, yet spacious room. Aramis cocks his head to the left, towards a long wooden table. She set the capes down against the surface, and turned hesitantly towards the handsome musketeer in front of her.

Puzzled at her silence, Aramis drew his brows together quizzically before noticing the small bit of parchment in her hand. Before he even has time to question the paper, Constance is but a foot away, breathing heavily, pushing the letter into his hands.

"I did not give you this letter, you never received this letter if anyone asks, you cannot let anyone know of the content and existence of this letter, not even Porthos or Athos" She rushes, rapidly and turns quickly to leave.

She is all but at the door when Aramis, snapping out of his confusion and managed to choke out a reply.

"Who is it from?" He pleaded, already half sure of the answer.

Constance froze, her hand hovering over the door handle.

"The Queen." She whispered roughly, before leaving the Captain's office, not once looking back.


	2. You're not the only one who thinks the tears on their cheeks is rain

He couldn't feel anything. Not the pulse in his neck or the heat radiating from the throngs of drunkards and courtesans filling the tavern around him. His heart felt as if it was barely beating as he poured himself another glass of golden spirit. He watched as the sickly liquid spilled ever so slightly above the rim of his glass before he drew it to his lips, knocking his head back in effort to savour every drop that burned a path down his throat. He had lost count, though that in itself was not uncommon, of just how many glasses he had drank after spending hours alone in the corner of the dimly lit tavern. His head rested against the sticky film on the wooden table hoping for wave of unconsciousness to wash over him.

He had been playing this game all night and by now he was practically a master. He drank until he could no longer feel the weight of the letter inside his cloak pocket. Until he forgot who the letter was from and why now, after months of stolen glances, that Anne decided she would contact him.

He could not stop the continuous stream of internal commentary, he realised, after finishing off a second bottle of the hard liquor and instead decided to leave, the now near empty tavern, before he did anything he regretted with one of the ladies occupying the booth next to him.

Meeting the crisp chill of Autumn as he stepped outside, Aramis pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Rays of starlight lighting the cobbled path in front of him, providing direction to the musketeer as he swayed slightly in the breeze. He stilled, turning his face towards the dark sky, breathing deeply.

He had suspected something was wrong, or at least someone was in trouble, when he saw Constance early that day, her cheeks flushed and smiles forced. But the sheer terror that seeped through him as she handed him the slightly crinkled letter was only marginally outweighed by his utter surprise. While he had often wondered as to whether the Queen would contact him after their night spent together in the convent he had never even dreamed that one day it would be happening, least of all now.

Timidly, as though not to rip or damage the light parchment, Aramis pulled the letter from his pocket bringing it close to his face. The light armour of vanilla engulfed him, but there was something more, something that reminded him of the stretching fields of him home land. It had been the same that night, as she lay with him his arms wrapped around her waist, running her fingers through his hair, he had been transported back to Spain, the presence of her under him awakening feelings so deep he had forgot they existed.

He all but managed to return to the garrison the letter now gripped to his chest. He collapsed against one of the many wooden work benches and eased himself into a sitting position.

Aramis knew what happened next.

He had been putting off the task of reading the letter for hours now, and still there was a part of him that knew by reading what is written would only open a whole other can of worms. Everything would change. Because while he thought of the Queen's shy smile, crystal eyes and ivory skin often, Aramis was unsure as to whether she thought about him too. And one way or another reading her letter would change things.

Almost painstakingly slow Aramis unfolded the letter, running his hands over the fragile edges. With one last look at the moon above him, Aramis began to read. All the while holding his breath.

_Aramis,_

_I do not know where to begin. An apology perhaps. I had meant to write sooner as this is not the first time I have put ink to paper in hopes that somehow I could deliver it to you. I am well aware of the problems this could cause but right now, in this instant, you deserve to hear these words from me._

_We have a son._

_A strong, healthy, beautiful son who is more perfect than I could have ever dreamed of. And yet the joy that his life has brought into my own is pained and suffocated with my sorrow._

_Sorrow for you. That you will never get to call him your own or hold him in your arms and soothe him as he cries. Sorrow  for him, for our child will never know you in the way you deserve to be known. He will call you a knight, a musketeer. But he will never call you padre, or papa, or father. He will never know that his true father is the most gentle, kind and warm-hearted man in all of France._

_Already when I look at him I see you.  Brown eyes gazing up at me with such innocence, but a smile that already has a mischievous pull. His Spanish heritage is so obvious sometimes that I'm scared someone will take one look at him and know, know that he is yours._

_I am also sorrowed for another reason. One much more selfish and irrational. I long to speak with you, to touch you, to be held by you. And I am well aware of how foolish I sound as in all truth, I barely know you. And other than the fact that I am the Queen of France you barely know me. And yet I go out of my way, whether it be another stroll around the gardens or attending royal meetings I have no desire to be a part of, to simply get a glimpse of you._

_Do you think of our night at the convent ever?_

_I do._

_Louis sleeps in a crib next to me as I am writing this. He reminds me of you most when he sleeps. His small face scrunches and he lets out puffs of frustration, but there is this quiet peacefulness to it aswell. That somehow he is telling me that it will be ok. Even though I know it won't._

_I often whisper stories of our adventure together, that brought him into this world, and describe you in every way I possibly could to him. I very rarely speak Spanish anymore, but if I can give you one hope in all of this is that I will try and raise our son to be both a son of France, y un hijo de españa._

_I do not expect you to reply to this letter, infact, I would prefer if you didn't reply at all, as not to endanger Constance anymore than I have already. She knows nothing of the nature of this letter, and I would prefer it for now if we kept it that way._

_All I can say now is as I feel this maybe my only chance to say this is that you, my most beautiful Aramis, have single handily given me the greatest gift on the planet and not only that but in the stolen moments we spent together you gave me something to live for, something more than all had ever had. Please, don't resent me or you child for the fact that while we remain together all you can do is simple watch from the sidelines. I will know and though it may not be for you, for now that alone is enough._

_Most ardently,_

_Your Ana María._

* * *

 

It was only some short time after, that when Aramis raised his head as he felt patches of rainfall fall on his face that he realised he was crying.

And he stayed like that until the sun broke through the dawn and the last traces of nightfall seeped away quietly and Paris began yet another day.

* * *

 

Constance had barely slept that night. Every thought filled with questions and wondering as to why the Queen was writing to Aramis. She had seen the shock and the fear on the man's face as she handed him the letter the day before. Scurrying off as quick as she possibly could as to avoid suspicion. Not only that but she was curious on what to do next. Should she go back to the garrison to talk to him. Would Aramis seek her out?

The sudden dread that filled her at the thought of Aramis giving her a letter of his own to deliver to the Queen caused Constance to sit up sharply in bed. She knew whatever was going on was between two people she considered  to be her friends was dangerous and more secretive than anyone could ever imagine.

She was fully aware that she was getting ahead of herself. That the letter itself might be something else entirely to what she was thinking, thoughts that she had rid from her mind the second they crossed over into her sub consciousness. And yet when the Queen had given her the letter, and she had placed it in Aramis' hands they had both shared the same crazed appearance, breathes heavy and rapid, eyes hopeful and yet terrified. There was no way they were discussing matters of business, Constance was sure with every bone in her body that they were talking of matters of the heart.  

She looked down then, her husband's sleeping form turned away from her, balancing on the edge of their bed and she could not help but think of another musketeer.

d'Artagnan invaded her thoughts in her every step, no matter how unwanted.

She was positively haunted by the young Gascon, his passion still clinging to her skin. She had so wanted to resent him, for not understanding her situation or realising that she still loved him. Gods, she couldn't even hate him after seeing him with the blond woman on the terrace of the garrison. Because Constance knew damn well that if their roles were ever to be reversed that she would be trying to move on as well.  But it hurt, more than she was willing to admit. She was a strong woman but even she had her limits.

Still, despite the rather peculiar start to her break from court, Constance was not about to waste the rather prized time she would be spending away from those gossiping rags at the palace. She understood now, why Anne needed someone other than the rather dim women that followed her around the echoing halls of the palace. She had barely spent two months in the role as confidant to the Queen and their constant whispering and snide comments were already starting to get to her.

She began readying herself for the day ahead her husband and her both silently working around the other, as not to disturb the false sense of marriage and partnership they had forged over the last few months.

And this continued for the next two days, two people now experts and dancing around the other as if to pretend that they were not there. Her husband resented her more with each tale she told of court, and she resented him for not caring. She had managed, with a great deal of strength, to push out any thoughts of Aramis and the Queen from her mind and here she was lay in bed the night before her return to the palace with not a single piece of information she would give the Queen come tomorrow evening. She regrets now, not going to the garrison herself to seek answers. Or at least something she could tell Anne.  

It was then that she heard a quiet rustling from outside her bedroom window, and careful as not to wake her husband, she padded out of bed wrapping her cloak around herself tightly before going outside to investigate.

As she suspected he stood, rather awkwardly, in the square outside her home. Hat dangling from his hands Constance had to admit she had never seen the man look quite so undone.

"You look terrible" She stated squarely, keeping her voice low as not to wake any of the neighbours. He let out what could only be described as a half laugh half wince of pain. His hair was ruffled more than she had ever seen and even in the dark of night she could make out the bags under his eyes.

"Constance I-"

"You don't need to explain" She finished for him. Though usually her curious nature would be asking him everything, squeezing every possible detail out of him, she could see the pain in his eyes. Hear the strain in his voice. Whatever had been said in the letter had hit the man hard and Constance felt a small stab of sympathy for the Spaniard.

"I would firstly like to apologise Madame, this situation is one I never wished for anyone to be a part, let alone yourself."

"Well I'm as 'bout clueless as a blind sailor at the moment, so honestly Aramis there is no reason to apologise." He managed a real laugh then, and a smile. "Look, if I must be frank, I really don't want to know what is going on and right now I've had enough drama for a lifetime so if you have anything for me, I suggest you give it me now" She cringed at the harshness to her tone, but knew the musketeer would stand there all night before doing anything and Constance was beginning to feel chilly.

He bowed his head, pulling a small folded parchment from his hat. She raised her eyebrows, having not expected him to get her anything. He handed over the paper and Constance could see his hands shaking ever so slightly. As he began to pull away she caught his wrist, holding his hands in her own. Lifting to meet his eyes she gave him a sad smile, one which he returned. As she turned to head inside she heard his voice break through the silence once more.

"Madame Bonacieux, thank you"  the sincerity of his voice rather moved Constance and she nodded her head slightly, "also... when you see her," He brought his voice right down now, "when you next see Anne, just tell her that I do too, ok?"

And with that he turned off into the night leaving her no time to tell him that she would.   

* * *

 

 Torture. 

That was the only word that sprung to Anne's mind over the past few days. Every second since Constance had departed her chambers, Anne had been longing for the woman's return. But time was a cruel beast. In these moments time barely moved at all, the sun seemingly gracing the sky for more hours than one would wish for. And yet the time she had spent with Aramis had all but flown by, barely giving Anne the time to breathe. 

She had seen Constance that day, and through shared looks and nods Anne was sure she knew to come to her chambers again, though she suspects the young woman would come later than last time. Which is why Anne was sat fidgeting impatiently in bed at midnight, eyes flickering to the clock every ten seconds and ears prickling at every small sound made outside of her room.

Louis was in the dead of sleep by now, arms stretched over his head, nose scrunched up as always. She had been busying herself over the last few days with the arrangements of his christening, an event up until a few days before she has scarcely wanted anything to do with. She had known for a while that his christening would be coming soon, and yet the thought that in just over a week's time she would be standing before God, knowing full well that her son was not of royal blood, and swearing on her sons name made her feel a tad ill. But the planning had distracted her from the battle happening inside her very heart, so just as always Anne had fought through it.

The soft knocking against the wooden doors startled Anne to death, as she sprung out of bed, all but running to let Constance in.

She smiled warmly at the woman as she entered her bed chambers, and the similarity to their meeting a few days ago was not lost of Anne, though this time she felt as if their roles were very much reversed.

She grabbed Constance's hands, practically dragging her towards her bed, surprising the brunette greatly.  She knew how she must have looked to her, like an excited child on their birthday, eagerly awaiting the gifts from family and friends.

"How have you been, Constance?" She rushed, genuinely concerned for how her favour has been for her new friend. While she knew the woman would not refuse her, there was also the possibility that she didn't have the nerve to hand Aramis the letter or even that the musketeer was away on a mission,

"If by that you actually 'mean did I give your letter to Aramis?', then yes, I have been fine", Constance declared softly.

Anne sat a little straighter, barely able to stop the small gasp that escaped her as Constance pulled out a different scrap of parchment from underneath her night gown and handed it over with knowing eyes to Anne. The Queen hardly catching the look in the first place paid no heed as she tore open the letter her eyes skimming over the few words scribbled across the paper.

_Ana María,_

_To say your letter surprised me would be an understatement, though I'm sure our friend Constance would be more than willing to tell you of my reaction._

_I cannot say much as, unlike you, I find it hard to put pen to paper but I will ask you for this._

_Please make sure, that a week from now you and Louis are taking a stroll in the gardens by the east fountain at around two in the afternoon, if it that is acceptable to her majesty._

_Yours truly,_

_Aramis._

She read the words again, not quite sure what she was expecting. She lifted to eyes to where Constance sat watching her. A larger smile forming across her face as she hugged the woman in front of her. It took Constance a while to realise just what she was doing, but settled into the hug.

"Thank you" Anne whispered into her hair, tears threatening to spill over her cheeks.

 _Thank you, thank you, thank you,_ she repeated over in her mind. She was going to see Aramis, and more importantly Aramis would finally meet his son.

After a few more minutes spent like that, Constance detached herself from the queens' powerful grip. Anne began escorting her out when the woman turned around, nearly knocking foreheads with her.

"He also told me to tell you that he does too."

 _He does too?_ Anne pondered the words for a second before releasing their extent.

_Do you think of our night at the convent ever?_

_I do._

Anne had said in her letter. Heat ran throughout her body, her every nerve end on fire.

_He does too._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loving Anne and Aramis too much to make it at one shot, I must continue. 
> 
> Reviews would be lovely and also a little promo for next chapter: Anne and Aramis will meet, and maybe more than once.


	3. Of fist fights and loving sights: Part 1

While her warm smiles and sincere voice often lulled many into the pretence that the Queen was a weak and feeble woman, a beautiful plaything for the King to gaze upon,  Anne always thought of herself to be quite the opposite. Such was shown as she took another turn about one of her many parlours, her crystal eyes scanning the grandfather clock almost subconsciously. She had no idea as to what it had meant, when upon receiving his letter a week ago,  Aramis instructed her to be in the most eastern gardens of the castle with their child. She had not seen the musketeer around the castle in weeks and surely if he had wished to see his child all it would take would be one trip to court on a Monday morning, for the delight of becoming a father had not yet worn off of her husband, when the King often walked with the child himself around the gardens.

But even so Anne herself had devised a plan of sorts;  knowing very well that if she had simply woke up that morning and declared that she wished to take another route on her daily walk with the young Dauphin, even the smallest ounce of suspicion could have been apparent. And so the morning after Constance's return, during another recent yet not entirely unwanted breakfast with the King, Anne had suggested that the eastern gardens would be a much needed change of scenery for herself and Louis. Her husband had agreed warmly and had even proposed that he would join them.

He had in fact, accompanied them and it hadn't been an unpleasant day at all. A canopy had been put up just a hundred meters from the grand fountain and Anne had laughed genuinely as she watched the King play with Louis in the grass. There had been a small pang in her chest once more, her heart constricting at the sight of the wrong man holding her son to his chest. But the pure happiness that graced her husband's face was not lost on Anne and despite everything she was glad for that.

Despite there being next to no romantic love between herself and the King, Anne cared for him deeply. He was her King, her husband, but most importantly to her, he was her friend. Something Anne had lacked in the time she had spent at court. When she had first arrived in France, barely on the verge of womanhood he had been kind and inviting never once shameful or rude of her thick accented French. Even now he accepted her presence in meetings with the utmost approval, and listened intently when Anne herself had a suggestion or two. She was not unhappily married, and rightly so as she was the Queen of France after all, but before she was the Queen, she was a woman and even she deserved to be loved by someone.   

For the rest of the week Anne had spent her afternoon's in the gardens, and so when the rustic clock struck twelve, the week of waiting almost getting to her,  Anne let out a breathy sigh and instructed her ladies to prepare for her walk.

Constance strolled next to her, as she always did these days, sending her sideways glances when she had thought the Queen was not looking. Anne was not stupid, Constance's curious nature was one of the many things she admired about her and so she knew from the gazes she kept gracing her with that she had read Aramis letter before giving it to her. She was not angry, in fact she was more settled with the fact that the only person who had any idea that she was planning something was her most trusted friend.

Though she had planned rather meticulously, the next part of her scheme would require help from the man watching them above. She had tarnished her marriage vows that night, a sin no greater and while she should be damned for an eternity she felt as though He himself was smiling upon her just this once, and she hope that He could ease the pain in her chest and let a father meet his son.

* * *

 

 Aramis was not a nervous man, his whole character was determined by that fact that he did not crack under pressure or break in the heat of the moment. And yet as he patrolled the palace gardens that morning, Athos' stoic face at his side, the bubbling sensation in his stomach was becoming rather too much. He had no idea as to whether the Queen would be able to make it to the fountain as he stated in his letter, but this was the only hope he had.

The day after passing his letter to Constance, Aramis and his three brothers had received orders to spy upon an Italian minister from Rome, who was staying about an days ride from Paris. Though there was nothing entirely suspicious of his visit the King's orders had been absolute and had specifically asked for Athos, Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan. Aramis however had seen an opportunity, stating loudly for Treville to hear that the mission had sounded about as boring as patrolling the palace gardens. Just as he had suspected, Treville had fallen for his moaning and had promptly but him on patrolling duty for the day he returned to Paris.  

Which was why now Aramis and Athos made their way to the eastern gardens, the latter of them not suspecting a thing. Athos had not brought up either his son or the Queen so far and Aramis took that as a small blessing for he knew he would not be able to contain his unease if the subject had been brought up. He was also grateful that his friend had hardly mentioned them the past week as it was becoming increasingly more difficult to lie to Porthos and d'Artagnan. Both men knew there was a thick tension between Athos and himself, but were both smart enough to leave the issue alone, to wait until they both would confided in them.

Everything seemed brighter, Aramis noticed, whether it would be the sunlight filtering through the trees or the rich green grass beneath his worn boats. So bright that for a moment it distracted him from the soft murmuring in the distance, but not for long. As he and Athos turned the corner both men stopped dead in their tracks.

A large canopy was set up about two hundred meters from them. Deep blue fabrics stark against the bright day. But it wasn't that which brought a hiss from Athos next to him.

Queen Anne sat among her ladies in waiting under the canopy, feasting on lunch as a man played soothing tunes on his guitar. Her face was slightly pink, her smile wide and true as Constance sat to her right, whispering hurriedly in her ears as she saw the two musketeers.  

Aramis' heart stopped dead in his chest as Anne turned her head and looked at him. Blue catching brown as their eyes met. He swore he saw her smile stretch further, if that was humanly possible.  Athos' hand caught his shoulder, a stern look in his eye. But Aramis could hardly feel it as he turned and looked to where the Queen was motioning to with the slight of her head.

Sat on the marble of the fountain was a young woman both Athos and himself recognised. The nurse from the day of the Cardinal's funeral. The woman who had been holding his son when he first caught sight of him.  And cradled in her arms once more was Louis.

Aramis made haste to get closer to his son, but Athos once more held him back.

"Aramis..." He warned, his voice quiet yet assertive.

"Athos." He returned in the same tone before turning to the man he called his brother, eyes ringing out a silent plea.

Hesitantly, Athos let go of him, and began moving with him towards the woman.

She stood, eyeing Aramis in a way all women did and parted her lips. She was beautiful indeed anyone could see that. Aramis returned her heated look.

"Good afternoon, Mademoiselle." Both he and Athos greeted.

"Sir Aramis, Sir Athos." She replied with a certain glint in her voice. " I trust you both are well?"

Though Aramis had barely spoken to the woman, it was no surprise that their names were uttered from her lips. As the King's most beloved soldiers it was not unusual that even the women of Anne's company knew of them.

"As well as one could ever be." Athos replied, though her eyes remained appraisingly on Aramis.

Just as he was about to answer however, a shout rang out from across the garden to where the Queen was sitting.

"Mademoiselle Seydoux!" He heard Anne shout from under the sunshade. "Come quickly, it seems as though Madame Bonacieux has fainted."

The young nurse looked down at the child in her arms and then back at the Queen, unsure at what to do with the young prince.

"Fleur! Do not take all day." Anne yelled once more.

Debating her options quickly Mademoiselle Seydoux turned back to Aramis.

"Would you mind?" She questioned, holding the child towards the now pale musketeer. Unable to respond in any sort of coherent manner, Aramis nodded once.

His whole world stopped as she placed him delicately in his arms, and made her way swiftly towards her Queen. There was no other thing in the world in the moment his son was placed in his arms, just  him and Louis. He smiled down, tears threatening to spill over his eyes.

Anne was not lying when she had written that he looked like him. He already saw the same eyes and smile, and of course the unruly hair. But what struck him more was how much he resembled his mother, his Anne, his Queen. He had a small nose much like her own, and his small cheeks already were graced with the same dimples as Anne. His skin was soft and pure and smooth, unlike the calloused fingers that now ran across the babes face.

There were no words. No words in the entire French or Spanish or English language that could sum up the feelings swelling through Aramis' entire being in that moment.

This was his son, his flesh and blood. There was no greater feeling in the world.

He heard Athos grunt, and yet when he looked up expecting a judgmental stare and thin lipped grimace, all he saw was love. And for the first time since the convent, both men forgot of the danger and treason of the situation they were in and instead only focused on the child.

"He's beautiful" Aramis choked, not even trying to hide the emotion lacing his voice. Athos smiled, huffing out a laugh.

"That he is. Takes after his mother I see."

He snorted then, "Was that a joke I hear,  Athos?" He looked down at the young boy gurgling in his arms, "You don't know how rare they are mi hijo, you should count yourself lucky you have witnessed one at such a young age." He spoke into his son's ear, bringing his face close to his own.

Louis' small hands reached out, grabbing at a strand of hair falling across Aramis' forehead. He tugged, and Aramis let out an exaggerated sigh of pain. The child wriggled with delight.  

"A strong grip, that will come in useful one day,  my boy." He whispered.   

It was then that another small hand graced his shoulder, and both he and Athos turned sharply.

Anne stood in front of them her eyes staring longingly at his own. At once Aramis stood taller, bowing as much as he could with a child in his arms. As she stepped towards him, he reluctantly passed his child back over to his mother, his hands lingering on his own during the process. It went unnoticed by the sour looking women behind Anne, but Athos coughed pointedly.

"Is Madame Bonacieux well?" Aramis questioned, though he had the slightest notion that her illness was not of the 'real' sort.

"Quite well indeed, it seems as though she was a tad dehydrated. My son's nurse however assures me she is fine, and I thank both of you for watching over Louis as she tended to her."

"It was no trouble at all your Majesty, though I am sure you are much happier that he is now  safe in your bosom."

Anne's voice hitched slightly as she spoke, "I assure you, Monsieur, there is no safer place for my son than in the arms of a King's Musketeers." Her eyes bore into his own, the meaning of the words not escaping him. "I must retire back to my quarters now, good day gentlemen."

With one last lingering look Anne headed back to the palace leaving the two men alone once more. It wasn't until they had finished the patrol and made their way back to the garrison that Aramis remembered to breathe easily once more.

 

* * *

 

 Athos watched with quiet amusement as Porthos raised his knife once more, bringing the small yet deadly object to his face attempting to aim it at the apple perched on top of d'Artagnan's head. Stumbling once more before lining up his final shot, the knife sliced through the apple perfectly earning raucous cheers from the drunkards surrounding them. Despite not knowing the source of the strain that had settled between himself and Aramis both Porthos and d'Artagnan had sensed, that while unresolved, that they'd put their issues to bed for one evening while celebrating the end of yet another helplessly dull mission. Porthos' laugh bellowed throughout the tavern while d'Artagnan blushed at the rather overbearing attention he had been receiving from the landlord's daughter and after more pints of ale and lager had been placed in their hands, they had not even realised that Aramis and himself were not part taking in the commodities as they usually did.

Athos sat across from Aramis and even in the face of all the dangers their actions could likely have caused, he could not stop the small smile edging its way across his face as he remembered the undying affection his friends eyes had carried as he had held his son. Though many believed that the charming musketeer kept all his emotions and feelings on his sleeve, Athos knew the truth was quite the opposite. In reality very few had bared witness to the full scope of Aramis' unwavering devotion to the ones he loved. Of course Aramis showered nearly every person he met with warmth and charm, but when Aramis truly loved another person, the type of love that was unconditional and would never leave him, all that charm and allure disappeared.

It was that type of love, Athos knew, that Aramis reserved for himself, Porthos, d'Artagnan, Isabella, Louis and, despite all of his best efforts to prevent, the Queen. He had seen the look in his friend's eyes as he handed the prince back into her arms. It was the type of look that screamed danger. A look that would ensure that he'd burn down the entire world twice over before he'd let anything happen to her. Athos knew he could not let his anger boil forever. That the fury in his veins would end and he'd have to forgive his friend for his liaison with the Queen and for the fact that he'd fallen in love with her.  

Aramis slumped on the table in front of him causing the leather tabard he wore to bunch his shirt, revealing a weathered scrap of parchment that had been tucked firmly against the musketeers chest. Though under normal circumstances Athos would not invade the privacy of his closest friend, but a stone in his stomach lurched and Athos already ready knew as to just what the letter contained.

His fingers moved swiftly and Athos seized the letter from his shirt, before Aramis even had a chance to stop him. Eyes bulging, Aramis attempted to heave himself over the table, hands flailing at any attempt to steal back the battered papers.

"Athos, don't" Aramis begged, knowing any efforts were futile as Athos had already began scanning the words before him.

_I long to speak with you, to touch you, to be held by you._

_I do._

_My most beautiful Aramis._

_Yours Ana Ma_ r _ía_.

He could not see anything but red as he lifted his eyes, he could only feel his fist connecting with Aramis' face as he lunged over the table. And he punched again, the letter still clutched in his grip.

Aramis shoved at him now, knocking over the chairs next to him in the process. Swinging once more, his knuckled coupled against Aramis stomach, causing him to fall forward leaving Athos with enough leverage to thrust Aramis against the stoned wall behind him.

Though the scrap had lasted but a few short seconds, the two musketeers already brought in a crowd around them, and somewhere in the back of his head Athos could hear the outcries of both Porthos and d'Artagnan. But his rage was too far gone for him to stop.

"HOW YOU COULD BE SO UTTERLY STUPID ARAMIS?" He bellowed, causing an eerie silence the fill the room. "I TRUSTED YOU ARAMIS, TRUSTED YOU WOULDN'T FUCK UP ANYMORE THAN YOU HAD. YOU PROMISED ME NOTHING LIKE THIS WOULD EVER HAPPEN".

Athos punched again, his fist connecting with Aramis' nose, blood oozing.

By now Aramis was no longer fighting back, and instead slumped against the rigid wall behind him, letting Athos have his way with him. He could have only hit him twice more before Porthos was dragging him away, d'Artagnan catching Aramis as he collapsed to the floor.

No one spoke, the only sounds coming from a grunting Aramis and the heavy, laboured breaths of Athos.

"Now-" Porthos paused " I think you two finally have some explaining to do." Porthos asserted as finally the men and women around them lost interest in the ended brawl.

* * *

 

Aramis opened his eyes tentatively as he felt himself being laid upon his bed. Blinking rapidly in attempts to remove the blurry images that danced across his eyes, he pushed himself against the wall next to where Porthos had put him.

Vision finally clearing, Aramis was able to take the sights in around him.

Athos sat in the chair opposite him a wet rag between his fingers as he dabbed at his bloodied knuckle. Porthos paced between the two of them while d'Artagnan stood awkwardly in the corner, unsure of what to do.

"Well... that was fun, same time next week?" He quipped, in effort the brighten the mood.

Porthos gave him a blunt stare.

"Look, me and d'Artagnan have both known for while now that something funny was going on between the two of you, an' because you are our mates neither of us 'ave said anything. But this-" He gestured between the two men, "has either got to stop right now, or you tell us what the hell happened."

Aramis looked at Athos now, seeing his letter from Anne was nowhere to be seen he cocked his head slightly.

"Go on when, what did you do with it? Burnt it I guess?" His tone was less bitter than expected.  

"Indeed I did, something you should have done the moment you received it."

Silence echoed once more, neither Porthos or d'Artagnan sure on what to do or say next.

"So do you want to tell them or shall I?" Aramis questioned Athos after a while, a contorted smile plush against his bruised face.

"The floor is all yours my friend."

"So be it." He coughed, clearing his throat, "I slept with the Queen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I know I said they were going to meet twice this chapter but it ended up being around 5,000 words so I've split it in two. (part 2 to follow in this next few days)
> 
> Also I have just seen the newest episode and oh my lord I almost sobbed when he held Louis. Feeling a little sorry for his Governess though, Aramis be using her...
> 
> Also updates will be a bit slow over the next week as I am sure every college student in the UK, like myself, are revising for the beauty that is January Mocks.
> 
> As always reviews would be amazing and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter :)


	4. Of fist fights and loving sights: Part 2

"I slept with the Queen."

The words ricocheted off the walls, hanging in the air for what seemed like hours, Aramis watched silently as the proverbial plate smashed against the floor.

"You." Porthos started carefully, "You slept with the-"

"The Queen, yes." Aramis finished.

"The Queen of France?" d'Artagnan continued, his face screwed up in attempts to process Aramis' abrupt confession.

"No, the Queen of England you bloody buffoon." Porthos snapped sarcastically, almost instantly turning back to d'Artagnan as the words fell from his mouth with an apologetic smile on his face. "How the hell did that even happen?" He questioned aloud before he turned to Athos, "And how the hell do you know about it?"

Aramis knew he could have revealed the truth in a slightly better manner but whether he broke the news to his fellow musketeers with ease or like how he just had, the words were never going to be easy to understand.

Aramis realised then, that just then had been the first time he had ever uttered those words aloud. He had spent months internally analysing and arguing over every detail and yet he had never said the words himself. There was a strange peacefulness about it.

Athos remained silent in the corner of the room, uninterested and unwilling to help with his explanation. Porthos still paced between Aramis and Athos, question after question falling from his lips and it wasn't until d'Artagnan spoke up once more that he answered.

"Is the Prince-" He stopped abruptly, not wanting to imagine what would happen if Aramis said yes to his question. "Is the child yours?" He whispered apprehensively.

Aramis gulped, nodding as he ran his hand through his hair. He winced, forgetting momentarily of the damage Athos had done earlier that evening.

Porthos sat beside him then, resting his hand on his shoulder, "When?", was all he asked.

And so he told them everything. They had both already been told of what had happened with Isabelle at the convent, but this time he filled in the missing blanks. How he and the Queen had found comfort in one another, how they had connected in that moment, over lost loves and lost chances. He kept out some details though; how her body had felt against his, the soft moans and sighs she released as he had kissed her softly, how she held his face between her hands never once looked away from his eyes.

He spoke quickly, not once looking at Athos.

It was harder than he thought, to tell them. When it was simply just Athos who knew of his dalliance with the Queen things had been easier. Athos never asked questions, never once made him explain his actions to him. Whenever he had looked at Anne for too long in court Athos had always been there avert his eyes, to tell him that she was not his and never would be. But now that Porthos and d'Artagnan knew that everything would become harder, Athos wouldn't be able to control all of them. Fortunately no further questions had been asked after his explanation and Aramis had been thankful for that, for even the slightest mention of the feeling he had been suppressing for months would have caused him to breakdown in a way he could never recover from. 

 They all fell asleep not long after, and Aramis had woken to the sun filtering through the shutters. He had realised quickly that Athos no longer occupied the chair opposite him and as quietly as possible he pushed off from the bed and tiptoed over d'Artagnan's sleeping form, finding Athos in the only other room in his home. His living quarters were small, just a bedroom and a small living area, but they were not unclean and Aramis was quiet proud of his small home. He joined Athos next to the window, and both men watched as the streets beneath them began bubbling with life. Today was the Dauphin's christening, an event Aramis had been dreading for weeks. He would have to watch as another man cradled his child, listen as he called him _his_ son and _his_ heir.

It would be torture.

"I'm not going to apologise for yesterday, Aramis." Athos clarified moments after Aramis joined him.

"Nor am I going to apologise for the letter."

Exasperated Athos turned to him and shaking his head in defeat pulled the letter from the inside of his jacket.

"Look, Aramis, I know this is hard for you and don't think for a second that I don't understand that but please you cannot continue this affair. There will be no happy ending. There is only one way in which this ends...with-"    

"Don't you think I don't know that." He snapped. Of course he knew if he continued there would be head after head on the chopping block; his own, Athos, Porthos, d'Artagnan, Anne, Treville and even his son. He knew the line he was crossing and knew at some point he would look behind and it would no longer be in sight. But she was his drug and Louis was his son. He could never just abandon them. "That was the only letter she sent me, I can promise that. And I swear, right here right now that there will be no more. Just please, let me read it just once more before I destroy it."

Athos nodded, handing over the letter fretfully. "Once, and then you burn it."

He left him alone then, and Aramis read through the words once more. He could practically hear her soft voice speaking to him through  the paper, see her smiles when she spoke about their son. He kissed the paper once he had finished and placed it in his small fire place. Striking the rocks lay on the floor next to him he set the parchment alight, watching with sorrow as the paper curled under the flames.

He knew he had to stop whatever he had with the Queen before it was too late, but for once in his life Aramis was unsure if he could be strong enough to do just that.

* * *

 

 The streets were lined with thousands of Parisians, all cheering and chanting gleefully as the King's carriage circled through Paris. Anne held her son against her chest, watching as her husband waved gracefully to the crowd around them. His delight was palpable, and Anne smiled warmly because she knew she had finally attained the full trust of her husband and the people of France. Producing an heir had solidified her position in court, she was no longer the barren Queen who France wanted rid of. She was the mother of the Dauphin of France, the mother of the next King.  

But today she could not celebrate as her husband was doing, for she knew the truth. Her son was to be christened as Louis Dieudonné, son of King Louis the XIII of France, not as Louis son of Aramis. She felt as though she would faint at any moment.

She had caught a glimpse of him earlier at the Palace, he had been stood with his back to her with his usual company. As she had passed him she had tried to catch his eye, but he looked down, eyes focussing heavily on his boots. She could not blame him, but it stung.

When she had seen him emerge from the corner the day before her heart had stopped dead in her chest. She had forgot how to breathe as Louis had been placed in his arms and even sat a hundred meters from him the smile on his face had knocked her dead. He had deserved that moment, that one fleeting moment that he would probably relive in his every dream each night, for Anne knew another would unlikely come again.

She was surprised once more that he was not in sight as she exited the royal carriage, her son still in her arms. Subtly, she looked around the streets for him and spotted him assisting Constance and Mademoiselle Seydoux from the carriage behind hers. She could not help the tug of jealously that pulled at her heart as his eyes held Fleur's, her sons nurse, for a second too long. Nor could she help the longing as he smiled with such ferocious warmth at Constance.

She had never realised they were close.

Anne had held both her son, and her husband's hand throughout the ceremony and in that moment she realised that no matter how much she wanted Aramis to be stood there with her, it would never happen. She had to start accepting Louis as the father of her child, she had to separate her own hurt and longing for the good of her son and the country.

As the priest took her son from her arms, she turned to Louis and squeezed his hand gently. The love that was apparent on his face warmed her soul and the pain in her heart. He leaned into her and placed a light kiss on her cheek.

"I am so proud of you, my love." He whispered.

Such declarations was rare from her husband, and she grasped at it with everything she had. But as she glanced behind her shoulder her eyes met Aramis' across the church floor. She could see the sorrow in his eyes and the smile that had dwelled on her face fell in seconds.

_How could I be happy when he was suffering?_

_How could I lie to my husband for the rest of their lives?_

_How could I lie to my son?_

The panic began creeping up along her neck, and she became hot with worry. Louis did not notice, his eyes remained fixated on the baptism taking place.

She could not breathe.

The whole world faded into one, the words of the priest became one with the birds in the sky. Her laboured breath was drowned out by the cheers of people around her. Her corset became tighter somehow and she shifted in effort to relieve the pressure on her chest.

She could not do this.

She wasn't strong enough.

Just as she was about to turn and make a run for it, run until she couldn't go any further, she felt a small hand on her shoulder. Constance stood to her left, a concerned smile plastered on her face. She took her hand then and Anne held on so tightly she thought the young woman would most likely have a bruised hand come the morning.

Focussing her attention back on her son, Anne dropped Constance's hand taking in deep breathes in attempt to calm her racing pulse. Her cheeks were flushed and her smile tight as Louis was placed once more in her arms, and that in itself alleviated much of the dread lacing through her veins. Still Louis did not notice her worry, waving and smiling as they made their way back to court. He chattered happily of the guests attending that evenings festivities, in honour of their son. All Anne could do was nod dutifully.

Her maids, however, did notice her detachment as they dressed her in the finest silks and jewels that evening. Her silence was deafening and the tension running throughout her chambers was thick enough to be cut. There was no usual chatter and gossip, no songs and poetry being recited. Silence. Nothing more.

Anne remained that way for much of the evening, as she dinned on the finest meat at her husband's side, as she descended into the ballroom where hundreds of Paris' most notable and worthy bowed gracefully for their king and queen.

It was because of that reservation that Anne had almost not noticed Aramis stood in the corner of the grand room, his eyes fixated on every step she took.

Almost.

* * *

 

Aramis felt at least a stone lighter when he had returned to the Garrison that afternoon. He had held his tongue during the entire baptism, watched with longing eyes as the priest bathed his son's forehead with water. He was glad Athos was next to him though, as he always was, he had watched Anne carefully throughout the entire ceremony and almost shoved all caution into the wind when her cheeks had become flushed and her breathing quickened. Athos had held him back though and Constance had been there to calm the Queen.

Treville had ordered them back to base instead of them escorting the royal party back to the castle, but Aramis had be grateful and now lay facing the clouded sky breathing in the cool crisp air. He had been worried as he saw Anne become panicked and thought perhaps that it had something to do with the situation he had put her in.

_Was this my fault?_  Aramis often wondered. A thought that was almost always present at the back of his mind these days. Perhaps it was. He didn't stop Anne when she had kissed him, he had lead her to the bed and laid her upon the wool blankets all of his free will.

She didn't stop him either though.

Aramis was on the brink of sleep when Treville came bustling into the main quad calling for himself, Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan.

"Boys! Up you get!" He crowed, his voice startling Aramis off of the table he had been resting on. "You four have been invited to the palace in my place this evening. Please, for my sake, wear clothes not doused in pig shit for once." He addressed them sharply, not even bothering to look at them before turning for his office.

"Treville-" Athos slipped before he could register what he was doing, Treville froze, turned his head and gave Athos an amused yet demanding look. "Captain, I mean. Surely not all of us need to be there in your place, maybe just d'Artagnan, for he is the King's chosen musketeer." He reasoned, sending glances for the others to agree with him.

Aramis remained silent, praying for a release from this situation. Before yesterday he would have jumped at the chance to even get a glimpse of Anne, but he knew he couldn't be so foolish anymore. He knew he wasn't strong enough to stay away from her.

"Ah yes, let's just send one of you, when the King of France himself asked for the four of you-" He stopped an infuriated scowl on his face, "by name. No, all of you will attend and you will behave yourselves." And with that he turned on his heels and trudge up the stairs, slamming his door for good measure.

Which was how Aramis found himself, dressed in his finest clothes, in the darkest corner of the palace's grand ballroom. All around him men and women guzzled on the sweetest champagne, dancing and conversing in high spirits as he and his comrades stood in silence, the tension wrapping itself around each of the throats.

The noose tightened as the royal herald announced the King and Queen of France, and all around them people bowed elegantly. Aramis kept his eyes ahead, his breath catching in his throat as Anne emerged, clad in creams and gold. She could have been mistake for an angel.

Just as they always did, somehow, their eyes locked for what to Aramis seemed like an eternity and he saw the small chip in her mask. She had not known, Aramis realised, that he would be attending and as quick as their eyes had met she turned her head back forward smiling and nodding at her guests before being seated on the royal stage with the King.

The music started once more, melodic tunes twisting through the air and Aramis knew he needed someone to take his mind off of the Queen. He saw Mademoiselle Seydoux stood not ten feet away from him, dressed in a rich burgundy gown. She looked attractive, as she always did, and Aramis had seen the look in her eye more often than once when he spoke to her. It was a look women frequently gave him, flirtatious yet not overbearing. She would be the perfect distraction.

Athos had agreed almost too quickly, while the others had looked at him wearily like somehow they knew something he didn't.

"Just be careful mate, don't hurt the poor girl." Porthos had reasoned.

That, Aramis understood. He was always when it came to women, a gentleman. He adored their company,  worshiped their presence, he always paid them the attention they deserved and yet for the first time he was not simply seeking a woman for their company he was using her to distract him from another.

The thought knocked him sick.

He carried on forward though, pushing through the crowds and bowing as he approached her.

"Mademoiselle, would you care to dance?" He requested smoothly. The young woman smiled with allure and placed her hand in his offered one.

He held her body close to his; the usual attraction he felt for most women woefully absent. He was charming as always, laughing at her jokes and complimenting her beauty, but to him it all felt forced. He swore he could feel Anne's eyes watching his every move, but whenever the chanced a glance towards the queen she was always staring at the king intently.

As the song drifted to an end and Fleur, he had heard the queen call her on many occasions, looked at him with an opening invitation he felt a presence beside him. Constance was the picture of defiance as she cut between the two, eyes trailing over him for a short moment.

"Fleur, I was sent by Helena, the Dauphin is restless. You're presence is needed in the nursery." She stated plainly.

The young maid scowled, apologising fruitfully for the interruption of their evening. Aramis kissed her hand softly before she departed and was about to return to his friends when Constance grasped his hand, pulling him into a dance.

"Look, I don't have much time but I have a message of some sorts." She whispered through her teeth, her phony laughter ringing around him as she attempted to cover their conversation. "When the next song ends I need you to excuse yourself from my company, say you need some air or something. Exit through the doors to my right, the ones with the tapestry over them and take the corridor on your left and you should reach a small staircase, there will be a room at the top. Please, wait there for ten minutes. If no one arrives simply make your way back here."

Aramis' hands shook slightly and he could feel himself paling. Of course this was Anne, who else could it be. If he had any sense he would have ran in the opposite direction found this brothers and returned to the garrison. But as the final notes of the song echoed around him, he sent Constance a wink, bowed and dismissed himself.

Waiting until no one was watching, he slid behind the cloth and opened the door, taking a deep breath as he turned left down the dark corridor.

Anne watched with wonder as he slid into nothingness, disappearing into folds of blue, red and white. She could not believe he was following Constance's instructions, a part of her had wished that he wouldn't. She knew she was being rash, that she was letting jealously guide her as she had fixated on Aramis and Fleur earlier, and that it was this type of behaviour that would lead to both their demise but she had to try.

After a few minutes, and after other's  began leaving, Anne turned to her husband who was rather merry at this point and asked if she would be allowed to return to her chambers. The king responded with adoration, stating that as the mother of his son she could do just as she wanted this evening.

Internally, Anne laughed at that, knowing full well he would probably not approve of just what she was about to do. Excusing herself from the ballroom Anne started towards her chambers, before spinning to face her ladies in waiting, who had followed her as they always did.

"My ladies, you have been as dutiful as any subject should be for so long, please-" She gestured towards the doors slightly muffling the music streaming from the band, "do not end your evening on my account. There are many bachelors who I'm sure are falling apart without your presence." Her voice was laced with sweetness and sincerity, something they had all fallen for and after spewing their thanks rushed back towards the party.

It was just Constance and herself now and she grasped her friends hand firmly. They walked until they were out of sight of the guards, who were all guarding the ballroom and its surrounding gardens, before Anne dropped her hand and pulled her into a fierce hug. Kissing Constance's warm cheek and slipped into the corridor Aramis had walked through just moments before.

She could barely contain her nerves as she began ascending the rickety stair case she had discovered in her first months at court. She had been a girl, barely fourteen, a girl who wanted to cry without the prying eyes of those constantly around her. She had managed to evade her usual entourage that day, sneaking in the shadows and using only the servants corridors. It had been a mistake after getting lost in and taking a wrong turn after discovering the hidden door in the ballroom.

The stairs had been just as old and unsteady then but the cool plaster of the walls felt the same. She was almost out of breathe as she reached the top trying and failing to compose herself before she opened the door nervously.

She saw his hair before anything else, it flew backwards as his head snapped up when she entered. He stood at once. Neither of them spoke for a second, as Anne shut the door behind her carefully.

"I had thought for a moment that you wouldn't have come, your Majesty."

"Well Sir Aramis-" She mimicked his serious tone "aren't you rather presumptions as to believe the instructions had come from me in the first place?" She teased lightly, and was pleased when she saw the smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth.

He took a step towards her. "If you must know, you were actually my third choice for who it might have been, but considering the other two are out of the country, I assumed it must have been you." He joked back, his eyes glistening in delight.

"So I believe Mademoiselle Seydoux was fourth then?" She uttered quietly, yet not looking away from his eyes.

He faltered slightly, his eyes darkening. "So this is what this is all about then. You didn't want me talking to _your_ sons maid?" He questioned sharply, all essence of playfulness gone.

Anne flinched at his tone, sad anger running through her at the way he said 'your'. But she couldn't answer his question for in reality seeing him dancing with her had struck Anne hard.

"Your Majesty?" He questioned once more.

"Please don't call me that, Aramis. Not here."

* * *

 

At the sound of his name falling from her lips Aramis stopped dead in his tracks. His name was as beautiful as it could ever be when it came from her mouth. As if the angels themselves had plucked her voice from heaven itself.

He was consumed by guilt.

She was looking towards the floor now and he hated himself even more.

"Anne, look at me?" He pleaded. Her face rose defiantly, hard where it had been soft seconds before. "That was out of line, I am sorry."

"No, this is my fault I shouldn't have sent for you." She paused, "But God, I just.. I just needed-"

"No don't. I'm glad you did. And well whatever you presumed about myself and Mademoiselle Seydoux do not... I promise it was nothing."

"But you shouldn't have to promise." Her voice became louder, "You should be allowed to associate with whoever you like, you are not mine and you never have been-"

"But I am, for God's sake don't you see. I am yours."

She froze in her place, her hand held over her mouth, eyes squinting questioningly.

There was no going back now Aramis knew. The feelings he had been bottling into an imaginary jar were over flowing, and there was no way he could shove them all back in.

"I have tried to forget you, countless times Anne, but I can't. Ever since the day at the prison there has been something, this feeling gnawing at my every action. I cannot ever be rid of you, no matter how hard I try. I will always be yours."

In three strides he was in front of her, cradling her face and bringing down his lips against hers.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know I said I was going to post part 2 sooner but I redid the whole chapter after part 1 was published.   
> I am a terrible person I'm sorry.  
> Mocks were absolutely terrible so if this chapter is awful just blame that.   
> Reviews are wonderful as always, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.


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